Dominique awoke the following morning feeling as if the Hogwarts' Express had hit her repeatedly. Her head felt as if every vital fluid had been sucked out of it, leaving her brain to be scratching up against the sides of her skull in a grating and painful sort of way. Luckily for her, unlike the last time she'd woken up feeling this hungover, now she was in her own bed and had nowhere important to be. She could afford to lie in and rub her eyeballs deep into her head with the palms of her hands for a bit.

She groaned as she glanced over to the other side of the room—over to Jack's bed, which was vacant as usual. She'd passed out immediately last night, so she hadn't seen when he'd returned. He was probably out running and getting into his proper headspace for what was easily the most important match of his life now.

She could only remember bits and pieces of last night, though she had a sneaking suspicion that they may have fought. She could remember him saying that bit about not kissing his friend's sister and her feeling upset, but not much after. Had he said something else? Had she? She probably had. That was usually the case. Ug, why did she do this? The last thing he needed was that sort of shit before his match. It was the last thing she needed at all. She'd have to ask someone exactly what had happened.

When she finally checked the clock on the wall, it read eight o'clock. It was the latest she'd slept-in in days, but that was the luxury she was afforded now. The Premier match started at ten, which meant she had two hours to shake this headache, pack her bags, eat something, and get down to the central pitch to watch. It seemed an easy enough morning for most, but this headache was large enough that she'd need something other than a glass of water to rid herself of it.

She rose and began gathering her things. Most of her clothes were dirty and discarded into her bag, so her actual carryall was feather-light now. All that remained inside was a single outfit, her toothbrush, a hairbrush, a small bag of soaps and deodorant, and her travel broom care kit. Her trainers sat on the floor beside her bed, next to her very large bag of dirty clothes. She looked over to see her broom leaning up against the wall at the foot of her bed and realized that was everything she'd brought here. Seemed she was already packed.

A quick shower helped rinse the gross night of drinking off of her, and she changed into her last remaining outfit before chucking everything left into her bag. She put on her trainers and gave her side of the room a once-over to make sure everything she wanted to take home was now either on her or packed. She placed the bag beside her broom and stepped back. She was ready to go home.

It seemed Jack had mostly packed up his things as well. His broom and bat were laying down the length of his bed, obviously ready for him to pick up when he returned. His bag was sitting at the foot, though anything clean or useful he'd removed and set to the side.

She reached out to pick up his bat and held it in her hands. It always seemed so heavy as she turned it over and examined it. She could remember the day he'd showed it to her after he'd purchased it from Quality Quidditch Supplies. It had been that summer after their fifth-year—before the World Cup and him getting his captain letter. His parents had given him some money for getting through his exams, and he'd used that to upgrade his old, starter bat into something more professional grade. She could easily recall how he'd been worried that he couldn't handle the weight adjustment; how he'd dropped it probably ten times that first time out with it on his broom. He'd obviously figured it out. He now swung it around as if it was as light as his wand.

She inspected the dents and nicks that were viewed as battle scars. If a Beater's bat wasn't decorated with them, then there was a good chance they were piss poor. Her bat would probably look pristine if she owned one. Beating was by far her weakest area on a Quidditch pitch and the position she never volunteered to play even in a game of pickup. She'd tried once and it was the worst experience. She knew all about proper Beating and technique, but she was incapable of executing it. It was the one position that required you to retrain your brain to fly one-handed for the entire length of a match. It wasn't a glamorous position and rarely got to be the hero, but it was incredibly important.

She flipped the bat once more, feeling as though it was yesterday when Louis and Jack had approached her that summer day after their first year at school. Jack had been over to the house, as he was almost every day that summer, attached at the hip to Louis. He'd shown a lot of promise in their introductory flying class at Hogwarts, whereas Louis couldn't get the bloody thing off the ground. Dominique had, of course, been flying for years, but she had noticed Jack had natural talent. The broom had come right into his hand on his command and he'd flown well for someone who'd never so much as tried before. He'd spent the rest of their first year working on flying and getting a handle on things; by that summer he was now apparently interested in learning Quidditch.

"You could teach him," Louis had said to her, cornering her in their kitchen after noticing she had her broom in her hand. She had been heading out to her quiet clearing in the woods near her house to practice. It felt as if Louis had been waiting for her with that specific question in mind.

"No," she said. "Why would I want to spend my time teaching him when I need to practice myself?"

"Practice for what?" he asked. "You said it yourself, you have over a year until the Seeker spot opens up. That's plenty of time."

She had said that. The current Gryffindor Seeker was headed into his seventh-year and there were actually no open spaces on the current team. They probably wouldn't even hold tryouts for Gryffindor this year.

"Just show him how it's done," he said. "He's read all he can. He's learned all he can on his own. He needs someone to play with. I thought you'd love this. Someone to actually play with."

"Yeah, someone who knows what they're doing," she mumbled.

She'd eventually relented however, seeing as Louis would not quit asking. He'd also threatened that if she wasn't willing to help, he was still going to let Jack use her Quidditch space since it was technically their shared space. When she protested, their parents sided with Louis—claiming that the clearing in the woods was for everyone to use, not just her. Apparently, Jack and Louis would be there whether she wanted them to be or not.

And so Louis had brought Jack out there one day when Dominique had been flying. When she landed, she noticed that Jack had a decent second hand broom; one that wasn't fancy or full of features, but a solid classic Firebolt 350. It would get the job done. At least she didn't have to worry about trying to help him on a rubbish broom.

"What position do you even want to play?" she asked, forgoing all pleasantries or even hellos as she marched up to the pair.

"Not Seeker," Louis said. "I've already told him he cannot be a Seeker or you'll murder him. Doesn't want to be a Seeker."

Jack nodded, but didn't answer. He'd been far more timid around her then. She had a feeling he was a little intimidated by her—and that was especially evident when it came to Quidditch and flying. He probably wouldn't have had a thing to do with her had Louis not been his best friend; she suspected that her helping him was more Louis' idea than his.

"So, what position?" she asked again, her tone impatient.

"I…" He shrugged. "I'm not really sure. I know them all, but I don't really fancy one more than the others." He paused before adding. "Not Seeker, though."

"Not Seeker," Louis repeated.

Dominique sighed, taking him in. He wasn't skinny and had more of a solid look to him. He'd probably grow up to be bigger; whether that was chunky or muscular was for him to decide. He'd carry some weight one way or another. Even if he wanted to be a Seeker, she'd have genuinely advised him against it since Seeking was more for the lean.

"If I were you," she said. "I'd keep toward Keeper or Beater. You look like you'd fit those. Especially if you get some height on you one day. Are your parents tall? How tall is your father?"

Jack stared at her, seemingly unsure of what she was asking.

"She takes this all very seriously," Louis said. "But she knows her stuff." He looked back at his sister. "They're average, I'd say. His dad's not tall, but he's not short either."

She nodded. "Definitely one of those two, then. But the problem with being a Keeper is that Gryffindor picked up a Keeper this year. That Adams bloke. And he's only just going into his fourth-year, so that means you've got a few years before that spot's open. You could challenge him for the spot, but that's not particularly cool. That means you wouldn't be able to try out until…" She stopped to do the math.

"Sixth-year," Louis offered.

"No, that's too long," Jack said. "What spots are opening up soon?"

"Nothing this year," she said. "No one's graduated and they probably won't even hold tryouts. I don't even think they need alternates. But the year after—our third year—they're going to need a Seeker, a Beater, and a Chaser. Almost half the team will be gone."

He was nodding now. "And you think I should try to be a Beater over a Chaser?"

"Can you swing a bat while flying?"

"I've never tried."

"Then we need to answer that question first."

Dominique had a small, feeble looking shack out there that she and her father had built for her to store some of her Quidditch things. She kept an old chest of beat-up equipment in there, most of which she rarely touched, but she'd collected it nonetheless.

When she opened it, she was hit in the face by hot, stale air; the chest's contents clearly hadn't seen the light of day since last summer and before she'd left for school. Deflated Quaffles, broken Snitches, rusted bristle scissors, some dead bug carcasses, various sizes of gloves—many without their partner, a used Keeper's helmet, a pair of Bludgers—one cracked, one not—and near the bottom, two ancient looking Beater bats. She pulled them both out.

"Where'd you even get those?" Louis asked, his eyes scanning the rest of the chest. "Why do you have any of this?"

"Grams gave it to me," she said, trying to decide which bat to let Jack use. "When she was cleaning out the Burrow one day, she said I could take anything I wanted. I found this chest and took it. Most of it is rubbish, but I got a few things that I already put to good use." She held out one of the bats to Jack. "My uncles were Beaters at school, so I assume these were theirs. The left one looks in better shape than the right, but they're both really old so I'm not sure how well they'll hold up."

Jack took it and proceeded to swing it around a little, trying to get a feel for it. Dominique watched him and noticed something rather surprising. "Are you left-handed?"

He nodded. "But if it matters, I can still use my right hand well enough. I use both for almost everything else." He switched hands and suddenly started swinging it around well with his right hand. "Which one is better?"

She involuntarily started to grin, mumbling to herself, "He can use both hands." She looked over a Louis, who was smirking in a way as if to say, And you thought I was wasting your time? When she looked back at Jack, she immediately knew that he had to be a Beater. The advantages were too great for him not to be. A Beater who could switch hands could be a force to be reckoned with. Some of the best ones to ever play the sport had that ability.

"Both is better."

They'd spent the rest of that summer there in that clearing for at least an hour a day, sometimes two; her practicing and him learning the ins and outs of Quidditch. Jack started to learn how to fly with a bat in his hand, how to hit a moving target, how to work on his aim. Dominique and Louis would release Bludgers for him, watching as he hit them back at them—switching between both hands.

They would keep up their sessions sporadically throughout their second year, though by then Jack was proficient enough that he wasn't afraid to work with other people. Both she and him would get comments that they should try out of the team the following year, which they both did. The rest had been history. Jack continued to work as hard from there on out as he did from the first day. His ambidextrous skills set him apart from others and he only got better and better every year, arguably becoming the best Beater in the school. And now, it wasn't even arguable—it was a fact. He was the best Beater at school, by far. He was one of the best Beaters here at the Trials. Who knew what came next?

She set his bat back down where she'd found it, sighing a little as she rubbed her face. A part of her wanted to wait for him to return to wish him luck before his match, but she didn't even know if he even wanted to see her or what sort of terms they were on after last night. Also, her head was in desperate need of some sort of relief potion and she needed to eat as well. She'd see him soon enough.

She'd pulled the door open and left the room, noticing the dorm seemed very much alive at the moment. People were pulling bags and duffles out of their rooms; some looking as if they were leaving early. People were hugging and saying goodbye; others leaving details to contact each other. Most had their doors open and were cleaning out their room. Just across the hall, Michael and Ellibit had their door open, both of whom were finishing up their own packing. Dominique noticed that at some point, they'd pushed their two twin beds together.

Ellibit saw her watching and waved. "Do you want to go to the match with us?"

She shrugged, seeing no reason to say no. She definitely didn't want to attend alone. "I need food first. And something for my head. It's killing me."

"We can help you with the headache," Ellibit offered, glancing over at Michael who must have been listening to their conversation because he dug out a small vial of liquid from his bag and handed it to Ellibit without comment. He then proceeded to return to his packing—or rather stuffing his things haphazardly into his bag.

Ellibit handed it to her, and Dominique realized it was a potion of some kind. When she asked where they'd picked this up from, Elilbit explained that Michael—while not great a Quidditch, was a Potions prodigy of sorts—had whipped the two of them up enough Pepper-Up potions to get them both through the week. They'd already taken some that morning, and this was the last one. Now that they were leaving for home, they didn't need it.

Dominique stared at it. While a part of her was happy to have it, the other part of her wished she'd known this the other day. This little vial could have saved her that morning and potentially saved her Trials experience. Not that she'd have had enough time to actually get it from them that morning anyway, but knowing it had been across the hall was a bit of a smack to the face. Why hadn't she planned accordingly? Probably because she'd planned on not drinking and only focusing on Quidditch. That had worked out well.

She thanked them as she drank the liquid, immediately feeling the signs of her headache disappearing. Within the minute, it was gone entirely.

She waited for them both to finish packing, which they'd been nearly done with. On their walk down to the canteen, they'd asked if she saw Jack that morning and how he was feeling. She had no answers for them, commenting that they'd probably seen him last the previous night. He'd apparently stayed up for another hour after she'd gone to bed, which was surprising considering he'd been keen on getting to bed early. Apparently, he and Zara sat around taking after Erin had left, which wasn't long after Dominique.

They entered the canteen for what she assumed was the last time, but it was suddenly as if she were reliving the first day of the Trials all over again. People were swarming the place, taking up space at all of the tables and crowding the food area. It was evident then just how many people had nothing to do today other than watch Quidditch.

They had time to kill before making their way down to the Premier pitch, so Dominique chose to actually wait in the queue this time instead of grabbing at the first thing she came across. Michael was droning on about getting some kind of potato, and seemed determined to wait days if that's what it took to get some. Ellibit was anxiously looking around the room for a table to open up when she suddenly nudged Dominique hard in the ribs.

"Three o'clock," she said. "And headed this way."

Dominique rubbed her side. "What are you on about? What happens at three o'clock?"

"No, look at three o'clock." She nudged her head in the direction she was clearly indicating to. "Someone is coming…" She sighed and rolled her eyes. "Stuart Reynolds is walking over this way."

Sure enough, Stuart was headed in this direction and he was looking directly at her. She wasn't quite sure why it was such a secret. "Why didn't you just say that?"

"I don't…" She stopped talking as soon as Stuart was within feet of them. If she was attempting to act cool and nonchalant, it wasn't working. She was now standing up rigidly straight and attempting to avert her eyes anywhere else but on him, which seemed rather strange to observe.

"Hello, you," Stuart said to her, a charmingly handsome smile now plastered onto his face. He had his bag slung over his shoulder and his broom in his hand.

"Hello," she said, returning his smile in a polite way. "You look as if you're leaving? Not staying for the match?"

He shook his head. "I'm back to work tomorrow and I figured I'd give myself as much time to unwind as I can." He shrugged in a modest way. Even his mannerisms seemed carefully crafted to be boyishly handsome. She wondered if he practiced that or if it really did come naturally. "But anyway, I saw you over here and I thought I'd come say that it was nice meeting you. Or rather, I know we'd met before at school, but...it was nice to properly meet you."

"Is that what you're calling it?" she joked, feeling that was the only acceptable way to handle this kind of conversation. "Properly meeting?"

He grinned, "It definitely was a proper meeting." He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small card. He glanced at it quickly before handing it over to her. "I know you're headed back to school, but when you're out, if you ever get bored and want to grab a drink or something, look me up."

Ellibit wasn't even attempting to hide her nosey curiosity at this point. She was now leering over Dominique's shoulder, attempting to read the card in her hand. Michael now seemed to be paying attention and gently nudged her with his elbow, beckoning her to follow him. She hesitated, but eventually—and begrudgingly—did just that.

"Thanks," Dominique said, putting the card in her pocket. "Yeah, maybe."

It was then that Durrin appeared from the crowd, though unlike Stuart, he didn't have his bag or broom. He swatted Stuart to announce his presence, which made Stuart throw Dominique a quick goodbye smile. "Enjoy the match today. See you around." He briefly dawdled. "Also, if you see your friend, Ted, tell him I said hi."

"Do not do that," said Durrin, which seemed to be the reaction that Stuart had been aiming for. It made him laugh loudly as Durrin shook his head. "Ignore him. In fact, just leave this—" He made a wild gesture signaling to Stuart, "—out of any story you tell him. Trust me on that."

She smirked as the two turned to exit, watching as the pair of them headed off. Before they got too far, she called after, "Durrin, are you leaving as well?"

"No, just seeing him off," he shouted over his shoulder. "I'm going to stay and watch our boy, Jack, out there."

With a quick nod, she turned then to find that Ellibit and Michael had managed to get themselves some food and were now gesturing that they were going to go find a table. She signaled that she'd follow suit in a minute. For now, she was attempting to find something for breakfast that would settle her stomach. Perhaps it was residual hangover queasiness or perhaps it was nerves for how big this match was—she wasn't quite sure—but some toast and tea would really hit the spot right now. Everything else seemed too heavy.

The Hufflepuffs had found a table, or perhaps they'd only joined the one that Erin and Zara had gotten to first, because when Dominique found them, the four were all sitting together near the windows. Ellibit and Michael were happily tucking into breakfast while Zara and Erin— Erin especially—looked tired and hungover. There were glasses of that foul looking green drink sitting in front of the pair of them, as well as large cups of coffee. Erin looked to still be half asleep as she leaned her head against her hand, while Zara seemed to be faring much better. She was tired but alert, currently asking Michael and Ellibit how they were so bloody awake when she'd seen them both polish off a bottle of Firewhiskey.

Dominique dragged a chair over and sat; not bothering with good mornings and instead tucking straight into her toast. Neither Zara or Erin seemed to care, though Zara was now taking her in with intense curiosity. "How do you not feel more hungover? You were in a state last night."

She shrugged, her mouth full of toast. "Dunno. Got a good night's sleep. I heard you stayed up later."

Zara sipped on her green drink, making a face as she did so. "I stayed up until about three. Everyone else left, so I sat around with these really funny Dutch blokes for hours." She yawned. "I can't remember what we talked about, but they were funny." She let her gaze travel over to Erin, who looked to be fast asleep as far as Dominique could tell. "This one went to sleep right after you did, but she was beyond smashed last night."

"Yeah, we were there for that," Dominique said, inserting her tea bag into her hot water and letting it steep.

"No, you have no idea how drunk she was."

"I was there. I saw her."

Zara sighed, lowering her voice a bit. "No, see, the thing is when Erin gets really drunk, she's an open book. She word-vomits all over the place and talks all sorts of shit. And well…" She hesitated. "You should probably know that she told Jack."

"Told him what?" Dominique asked, biting into her toast.

Zara made an obvious face. "Seriously? Wake up, Weasley. About how you fancy him."

She choked on her toast then, coughing up what small pieces she could. Once she'd composed herself, she managed to mumble, "What?"

Zara kept her voice low, not that it mattered because Michael and Ellibit were busy talking to someone who'd stopped by to say hello to them. "Look, I really don't remember too much. I hadn't been paying a lot of attention, but I remember it came up after Mike made a dumb joke about how, maybe, you had secret feelings for Giggleswick. Sort of a Davies part two thing."

"What!?" That wasn't remotely funny.

"Completely taking the piss," Zara said, recoiling at Dominique's energy that she was clearly not prepared to deal with. "He wasn't being serious. We all had a laugh." She started drinking her coffee. "Anyway, Erin then blurts out something about how it's not Giggleswick, it's Jack you fancy."

Dominique stared at her. She didn't know what to say. Jack wouldn't have believed a drunk Erin. He probably would have assumed she was making shit up to start trouble. People said that sort of thing about close male and female friends all the time. He had no reason to believe her.

"She didn't even realize she'd said it," Zara mumbled. "I had to swat her and tell her she was running her mouth about things she shouldn't be. Anyway, Jack didn't even believe her."

She exhaled, feeling relieved. Exactly as she thought. She knew he wouldn't have. What reason would he have to believe a drunk girl that she barely spoke to? A drunk Sarah he might believe. A drunk Erin, he knew better.

"The problem is that Erin sensed that. It seemed to challenge her, so she doubled-down to convince him."

"Doubled-down?" Dominique asked, her eyes now traveling over to Erin. She'd woken up and was now staring into space while attempting to sip on her green drink.

"Things get a bit fuzzy after that," Zara continued, "but from why I remember, she was pointing at me and telling him I'd heard it straight from your mouth as well. And, I mean, I didn't deny it. She even told him that was why you'd gotten upset after that truth or dare story; why you were irritated with him." She paused. "That part made him stop and think—you could see it on his face. She really went in. Don't fuck with Erin when it comes to fact checking. She's very thorough. Her essays are always meticulously sourced and researched. She's the best person to help you write them."

Why in the bloody hell were they now talking about essays? Dominique found her mouth was now tight and her throat was dry. She picked up her tea cup, only to realize that her hand was shaking a spilling the tea inside. She immediately set it back down. "What you're saying is—?"

"I thought you ought to know so you're not blindsided if he says anything to you," Zara said. "Honestly, it's a good thing if you think about it. Everything's out in the open. You can talk about it now."

"I don't want to talk about it! If I wanted to talk about it, I would have talked about it!"

She'd gotten the attention of everyone at the table now. Even Erin snapped her head up before turning to look at her. "What's your problem?"

She could have jumped across the table and throttled her right then and there, but Zara took it upon herself to address her friend. "I'd be nice if I were you. You were the one who went and blew her secret about Jack up last night."

Erin shrugged, though didn't look particularly remorseful. "I barely remember any of last night, but if I said something I shouldn't have—sorry."

Sorry? Dominique's heart was racing. That was all she had? She'd potentially made one of her oldest and closest friendships now a complete clusterfuck and all she had to say for herself was lame sounding sorry? If she hadn't been completely freaking out over the idea that Jack now knew everything, she would have cursed her into the ground.

"What's the matter?" Ellibit asked after noticing the commotion. "What's happened?"

"She's just now heard how Erin told Jack about her fancying him," said Zara.

Dominique eyes went wide, now feeling rather horrified. "Are we telling everyone now?!"

"They were there last night," Zara said. "They'd already heard."

Both Ellibit and Michael made faces as if to say that was true; this wasn't a surprise to them. She'd noticed that they'd neglected to mention this little detail when they'd been recounting the evening to her earlier that day. It seemed like something they should have spoken up about.

Erin was now glaring at Zara now. "You need to stop putting this all on me. Yes, I might have started it, but you were the one trying to finish it."

"What's that mean?" Dominique asked, staring between the two of them. "Finish it how?"

"Relax," Zara said. "Nothing bad. I was telling him the same thing I'd told you. How I think you balance each other well and that you'd be good together. We had a chat about it. Or rather, I did. He didn't say much."

"This isn't happening," Dominique said rather desperately; now letting her head thump onto the table. "This cannot be happening."

"Stop it," Erin said. "You're grown, not a child. You can ask anyone here, he wasn't upset about it."

"He wasn't," Zara said. "He was confused, but he's really hard to read. Still, he didn't argue when I kept telling him how I thought you two would be a good match. He didn't say anything." She stopped as if she was remembering something. "He was actually mostly quiet after you left, now that I think about it."

"Probably…" Dominique said matter-of-factly, "because he's got a potentially life changing Quidditch match today and he didn't need to be hearing any of this the night before."

"He's a big boy," Zara said. "He'll be fine. Why wouldn't he be flattered? Anyway, I didn't have to tell you. I could have let you be blindsided."

"I wouldn't have said anything," Erin mumbled. "Mostly because I forgot it happened, but still."

"See?" Zara said, as if she'd just gone and done her a favor. "You're welcome."

Dominique lifted her head up. She didn't know what to say. This was such a nothing incident for them, yet she felt as if an entire world of problems had come crashing down upon her head. Perhaps this was another way in which she was socially stunted. They'd been having their feelings blasted and passed around since they were preteens; she'd skipped all of that entirely. This may very well have been nothing to them, but it felt as if it were everything to her. They did not realize how this wasn't just a boy finding out she fancied him. This was her very good friend finding out that she had far more feelings for him than she should have.

And she had no idea what to do with that.